Against the Clock
by Lunavere
Summary: For years, Jim Moriarty never feared Mycroft Holmes. There was nothing the man could do to him, after all. Not even torture fazed him. And then John Watson came into his life...


**Author's Note:** As per usual, this is my original plot and hard work. If you see this anywhere besides here or my AO3 account, please report it as stolen and contact me. Enjoy!

* * *

**Missing something?**

Those two words stopped Jim Moriarty in his tracks, and he felt his heart sink as a horrific realisation washed over him. Immediately, he began shooting off texts. There was only one thing that could have possibly been taken from him. The question was _how_.

**Got nothing, Boss. –RJ**

**Nothing here, sir. –WW**

**If he's in London, he's better at hiding than any spy I've ever seen. –HF**

**Nothing on the registrar. –EY**

**He hasn't left the country under his name or any aliases. –SP**

For the first time in his life, Jim understood what it meant to have his heart stop in his chest. He couldn't believe he had missed the signals. Abruptly, his blood began to race and boil. Jaw setting, he summoned his car. How _dare_ he touch what was clearly marked as Jim's? Jim would do nothing short of bring Hellfire and pain down upon everyone involved.

However, his first priority was finding John. He should have known better than to let John roam London alone. A detail should have been on him every second, no matter how well versed John was in self-defence and the use of a weapon. Seething, Jim ripped open the door as soon as the car slowed next to him. He slid into the seat and slammed the door shut.

"Drive," he snarled.

He sent out several more messages, offering a reward for the first employee to locate where John was lifted from and where he was taken to.

**You won't find him in time.**

Jim froze as he read that message. Heart in his throat, his mind reeled with the insinuation. He thought of a million responses, ranging from threatening to indifferent. Each of them came with a hypothetical consequence. Threatening merely confirmed how important John was to him. However, indifference might cause a severe reaction in order to call his bluff. Neither were pleasant outcomes. Luckily, another text came in before he could respond.

**Shall we play a game, Mr Moriarty?**

A video suddenly downloaded onto Jim's phone. The thumbnail picture alone was enough to make Jim want to bomb half of London in retribution. John was hanging from the ceiling with his hands tied behind his back. He too closely resembled a piñata for Jim's taste. The pain it caused his injured shoulder was evident on his face. Sucking in a deep breath, Jim hit play. The thumbnail came to life. Obviously helpless, John swung back and forth. A gag was stuffed into his mouth, but there was no evidence of physical injuries.

"Tick-tock goes the clock, even for the doctor," Mycroft stated. He stepped into the view of the camera, blocking out John. "You like riddles, Mr Moriarty, and you've been _begging_ for my attention lately, so I thought I would entertain you. I am assuming I have your attention now."

Jim's nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath. He would have Mycroft _murdered_ for this. The only reason that he survived this long was because he was the best distraction Jim had. This, though, could not go by unpunished. Moran would make it nice and slow. Any pain that John experienced, Mycroft would experience double.

"So now it's your turn to dance for me. If you solve my riddle in time, Dr Watson will remain unharmed. In fact, I'll even allow him to stand. I assure you that hanging in such a fashion is killing his bad shoulder. However, if you fail, well…" With that, Mycroft swung his umbrella and smiled. "Let's just say that it would not be good for Dr Watson."

Jim could feel himself starting to lose control of his anger. Biting his tongue, he kept himself quiet as he continued to watch the video.

"Your riddle will hint to which one of your pet projects you should shut down immediately and bring me closer to returning Dr Watson. How about we start with something easy?" With that, Mycroft situated himself in the centre. A position of power. His hands were clasped on his umbrella, which was now directly in front of him. Although he wanted to give an air of confidence, he wasn't secure – what with the umbrella serving as his closest weapon. "Tyger, tyger, burning bright in the forests of the night. What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

William Blake. Originally from the Songs of Innocence and Experience. Namely the Songs of Experience. Questioned God's creation of the tiger, as he was also the one who created the lamb. How could someone create a creature so fierce and bloodthirsty when he created something so tame and gentle at the same time?

"Since it's an easy one, I give you three hours, Jim."

Three hours. Plenty of time to find out where Mycroft has taken John. Instructing his driver to take him to his office, Jim located his back-up phone under the seat in front of him, where he had stowed it for situations such as these, and began to check in with his employees. All of them were still tracking John through his day, none of them having located the scene of the kidnapping yet.

In the meantime, Jim pulled up a copy of the poem on his mobile. He read through it quickly, scouring the different sections of it in hopes of figuring out what Mycroft meant. Capital letters led him nowhere – TTIWC IBOW ACAW WIWD WADD TTIWD. Not even unscrambling them produced anything useable, and Jim scrapped the idea immediately.

The other immediate possibility was Sebastian. After all, his nickname was "The Tiger." But why would Mycroft lead with such a large demand? Surely, he knew that Moriarty would fight before giving up such a key asset to his organisation. And if this was merely his first demand, how much further could it expand before-?

_Tiger Tiger London._

The thought hit him so unexpectedly that Jim actually had to take a moment to compute everything. For the general populace, Tiger Tiger London was a posh club they could go to or lease for a special event. Of course, they had no idea that Jim used it as a front to forge documents for exotic animals coming into the UK. It was, in fact, a small thing, just beginning and nowhere near as sophisticated or expansive as Jim's older projects were.

They arrived at his office, and he instructed the driver to stay nearby. Hurrying up the stairs, he unlocked the door and checked to make sure that it hadn't been tampered with before heading inside. Suddenly, Jim's spare mobile began to ring, and he answered it without saying a word.

"Boss, I heard about what happened," Sebastian stated. "Are we on a secure line?"

"Of course."

Sebastian pressed, "What are the exact details of the arrangement?"

"Simple. I solve the Ice Man's riddles, and he will come a step closer to freeing John."

"Do you honestly believe that?"

Snorting, Jim answered, "Not a word. He knows that I could just temporarily shut own these operations and start them back up at a later date and time. No. He's buying time right now before he takes me in. I wonder if I should just spare him the effort."

"And John?" Sebastian pressed.

"In minimal pain." Jim's voice was dark as he said this. Sebastian knew of his fondness for John, and he knew to what lengths Jim would go for something that he considered _his_.

Sebastian hummed. "Well, there is at least that."

"How did this happen?" Jim spat out rhetorically.

"I'm not sure, sir. I think Walsh is the closest to knowing," Sebastian answered.

Jim gave a _tut_, starting to pace around his office. "Do you think you could infiltrate it?"

"I don't know, sir. I would have to check the security around the location as well as vulnerabilities and entrances," Sebastian informed him. "Once I get the location, though, I will be able to scope it out."

Jim didn't like waiting. In fact, he loathed waiting, but he had no other choice right now. At least he still had time. Should he have no other option, he would shut down that project. However, much could happen in the next two and a half hours, and he would take Mycroft down if he could.

"Find him, Moran," he ordered.

"Yes, sir."

With that, the call disconnected. Jim placed his mobile back in his pocket and frowned. Mycroft went too far with this one, and Jim wasn't the only one with weaknesses. Quickly, he fired off another text.

**He's still at 221b, sir. –RJ**

Moriarty smiled. Sitting down, he pulled up _The Science of Deduction_. It had been a cute distraction when Jim originally found it. Sherlock was interesting, to say the least. Intelligent, which was a hard feature to come by these days, and so socially inept that Jim couldn't keep himself from laughing. But now he was Jim's key. Cracking his fingers, Jim flipped over to the forum and clicked to add a post.

**Dear Mr Holmes,**

**I am writing you today in hopes of acquiring your assistance with a sensitive situation. My grandfather passed away under mysterious circumstances, and the police believe that I murdered him because I am to inherit his fortune. I am looking to hire you to prove my innocence and find the real cause of my grandfather's death. Please contact me via the email I have linked into my username.**

**Sincerely,**

**Richard Brook**

Jim sent the message and snapped his laptop shut, knowing he would only have to wait a short while before Sherlock contacted him. After all, he would be able to solve a murder mystery and prove, once more, just how incapable NSY was. Just then, his mobile buzzed. Jim smirked, thinking it was Sherlock emailing him, only to find a message from Moran.

**Walsh located the sight of the kidnapping, but lost John partway through London. Mycroft shut down the CCTV for one full minute. –SM**

Jim cursed before spinning around and yanking open his laptop. Calling Walsh, he snarled, "Tap me in."

"Yes, sir."

Jim's screen flickered to life, covered in the various CCTV feeds. "Show me where he was taken."

One feed expanded to cover his screen – one just outside King's Cross St Pancras – showing John walking up the street towards the entrance of the Tube station. Jim felt his heart sink again. He recalled John's text to him, explaining that he missed Jim and wanted to see him again soon. Jim had set it aside in order to do other things and, despite his intention to, he never wrote John back. Therefore, the only reason John would be there was because he wanted to visit Jim at work. He should have answered John and explained that work was keeping him busy. That John hadn't done anything wrong. Even set up a date. After all, John was enamoured with Jim. He should have known that John would try to do something spontaneous and romantic.

"Where do you lose the feed?" Jim inquired.

The camera zoomed out and flipped over to a new feed. This location was far more obscure, and Jim had to read the coordinates to figure out where it was. Near the Thames. Frowning, he sat back in his seat and began to re-examine the film in his mind. There had been no swaying to indicate that John was on a ship. However, if he was, that would prove far more difficult. Infiltrating a boat wasn't as simple as overwhelming a building.

"The feed went out for a minute?" Jim inquired.

"Yes, sir. But, I mean, they could only do so much in a minute. They wouldn't want to cause a scene, after all, so they would have to be travelling at a normal speed. I've been estimating the distance they could travel in a minu-"

Jim scoffed. "Don't bother."

"Sir?"

"He used that one minute to change cars. Any one of those cars at that exact moment could be them."

There was a long pause on the phone. "Shall I get to work then, sir?"

Jim blinked in surprise. Usually, people gave up when something seemed impossible. The truth was that Jim had been planning on taking over and trying to figure out which car would be the one they needed himself. "Why are you so eager to help? Do you need the bonus that badly?" Jim snapped.

"No, sir," Walsh replied.

"Then _why_?" Jim's voice was dark, warning him to answer wisely or not at all. He didn't like it when his employees lied to him. Made for untrustworthy employees. Useless. Disposable.

"It's because of him. Your… whoever he is."

"What about _him_?" Jim pressed.

Walsh cleared his throat. Nervous then. Good. He should be. "Well, you… changed… when he came into your life. People change when something significant happens. I just assumed-"

"Never assume," Jim snarled, unable to help himself. He had been so careful with John, making sure to keep him away from his criminal activities. John was a good man, after all. He wouldn't understand. How could he? "Never, _ever_ assume, do you understand me?"

"Perfectly, sir!"

Jim sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm down. "Work on it," he finally ordered before ending the call. His other mobile beeped, and he quickly opened the new message.

**You're running out of time. – MH**

Jim knew it was true. War had been declared, and he was scrambling to move his pieces accordingly. Sacrifice seemed to be needed in this case, and he pressed his lips into a thin line. Hesitantly, he called the man in charge. "Shut it down."

"What?" the employee asked, incredulous by the sudden declaration.

"You heard me. I want you to shut down the operations effective immediately. Do you remember the proper procedure?"

The employee answered, "W-well, of course, but, sir, if you don't mind my saying–"

"Do _not_ undermine my authority. If whatever you need to say starts with 'if you don't mind my saying,' just know that I will mind it. You have your orders. Do them, or I will _end_ _you_!" Jim screamed into the phone.

"I'm on it, sir!" With that, the employee hung up.

Jim inhaled deeply before turning to his laptop. He returned to the last moment before the CCTV went out. Pressing his lips together, he went through the one minute of black. When the camera turned back on, the car was nowhere to be seen. That wasn't important, though. He needed to find out where the other car was. From what he could tell, they probably sedated John to keep him compliant. If so, he's a heavy bloke, and they wouldn't have been able to drag him far without someone seeing. So somewhere close. Unfortunately, he couldn't turn the cameras himself, as it was a recording.

Jim knew that it was a risky move to start exploring the different feeds on Walsh's account. Mycroft would have security heightened just for that situation, and if he caught Walsh, Jim would be one mole down. Even so, hacking into the servers was even more dangerous. One wrong keystroke, and Jim would place John in peril. Sucking in a deep breath, Jim cracked his fingers. Within minutes, he was shifting away from the recordings. One wrong move, and he would give himself and Walsh away. With five minutes left to spare, Jim focused on the camera he needed. He picked up his unsecured mobile and called Mycroft.

"Mr Moriarty! Pleasure to hear from you. Dr Watson and I were getting antsy about your call. I went over his options with him. Can you believe he selected to be whipped, of all things?" Mycroft inquired nonchalantly. "It's a good thing you called, though. It means he's allowed to stand on his own two feet now."

Jim carefully began to move the camera's angle. He had to focus on the screen in order to keep himself from exploding. Sentiments would only serve as an obstacle, after all. Soon enough, he would have Mycroft Holmes begging for mercy. Until then, he would just have to stay calm. "It's done."

"Oh, well, that's marvellous. I am expecting for proof that you figured out the riddle."

An alleyway started to come into view on Jim's screen. Of course. They would have placed him into a car in that alleyway and drove off with him. "Just as I am expecting for proof of life."

"I'll send you another video," Mycroft offered.

"No. I want to speak to John directly."

Scoffing, Mycroft answered, "You forget who is in charge here."

"Mycroft, you _will_ let me speak to John right now, or your game is over. If don't think that I can't bring London to its knees from in front of my computer, you're terribly mistaken," Jim snarled, unable to allow Mycroft to continue with such conditions.

Silence answered Jim, and he waited quietly for a minute. Suddenly, a voice called out, "Jim?"

"John?" Jim responded, keeping his voice even. "How are you?"

"Been better, but I'm glad to be standing on my own two feet."

"Just hold on. I'm going to get you out of there," Jim promised.

A moment later, Mycroft asked, "Satisfied?"

"Hardly, but it will suffice."

"And now I require proof from your end, Mr Moriarty, that you have, in fact, correctly worked out the riddle. I do hope that you have, or else you have gotten Dr Watson's hopes up for nothing."

Jim flipped back to his computer screen and returned to the recording of the blackout. "Tiger Tiger London," he answered.

"I knew you would get it. It was remarkably easy, wasn't it? And remember, Jim, that if I find out you haven't actually shut it down, Dr Watson here will be the one who pays. Now, how about we try a harder riddle?" Mycroft pressed. "If you get this one right, John gets to sit down in a chair. If not… well… he did choose whipping."

Jim closed his eyes, visions of John being whipped and beaten flashing in his mind. The blood dripping slowly down his already marred back. The redness around each and every mark, both small and large. He wouldn't let that happened – wouldn't let anyone else mark John. John was _his_, and only _he_ was allowed to leave scars on John's body. "Continue."

"Please enjoy this riddle, as I wrote it just for you," Mycroft stated. Jim could hear the smile in his voice. "The yellow serpent fights its way, heading to the east. What potential it does have, this giant, yellow beast."

Jim chuckled at the childish poem. "Your poetry is rusty, Mycroft. I've heard 14-year-olds who have better concept of rhythm and rhyming than you."

"It serves its purpose well enough," Mycroft bit back. "I'll double your time for this riddle. Six hours, Jim."

Hanging up the phone, Jim set it off to the side and stared at his computer screen. Six hours. Jim pressed his lips together and sucked in a deep breath. He needed to locate John. Immediately. All of a sudden, his email _ding_ed, and he immediately opened it.

**If convenient, come to 221b Baker Street for an interview. If inconvenient, come anyway.**

**SH**

Jim shot to his feet and rushed out the door. As instructed, his car waited outside for him, and he slipped into the back seat. "221b Baker Street," he ordered before reclining into the seat. The tables were about to turn for Mycroft Holmes, and Jim could not wait for the game to really start.

Rapidly, Jim sent off a few more messages, wanting to ensure that the information of his grandfather's murder was all lined up. Forgery took time, but he hired the best in the field. By the time he arrived at 221b, they would already have several newspaper reports written about it and would be working on creating police documentation for Jim to give Sherlock at a later point, should he require it.

Jim sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was already dressed in a Westwood, and he didn't have the time to stop and change. After all, Mycroft could be notified at any moment that someone contacted Sherlock. He probably had tabs on him since it would be a logical step for Jim to take – going after Sherlock to even the field.

So far, there was no indication that Mycroft knew anything about it, and Jim needed every second he could get. With the Westwood on, he would have to be a gentleman. High breeding. Formal speaking and precise pronunciation. Tall stature – even, broad shoulders – even when sitting. Head held high and chin up to show confidence.

But there was a need to also show Sherlock that he wasn't entirely secure. Let on that some of it was just a front. So a nervous tic. Something that wasn't too obvious. Slight shifting of weight. Glancing around the room. There would be a need to be uncomfortable in such a setting. After all, Richard Brook was a wealthy man. He wouldn't be used to "slumming it" in any regard. Fixing the cufflinks on his suit would work. It would be a mark of his different status and show that he was self-conscious about his wealth in the presence of this financially-inferior man. Yes, that was absolutely perfect.

Opening his eyes, Jim straightened his back and uncrossed his legs as they pulled up to 221b. He rose out of the vehicle, standing proudly on the sidewalk. Quickly, he straightened himself out. He sucked in a deep breath and checked the address, as if to ensure that he was at the correct place. Letting his eyes widen, Jim strode up the stairs. Doorbell. He had to be proper. He pressed it hard for half a second before releasing it and placing his hand at his side. Not even a minute later, an elderly woman answered the front door.

"Oh, you must be here for Sherlock," she murmured, stepping back.

Jim forced a kind smile to his face. "Indeed. Thank you for answering so promptly."

"Oh, it's no problem, dear. Just up the stairs to the second floor. The door's open, so just go in."

Sliding past her, Jim headed up the stairs with even paces. He arrived on the second floor and examined the state of the flat. Masking his interest with disgust, he quickly straightened his cufflinks. "Mr Sherlock Holmes?" he called out.

"Yes, yes," Sherlock answered, walking out of his bedroom and into the living room. He glanced at Jim, clearly measuring him up, before sitting down. "Please divulge, and make it quick."

Jim gave a nod, glancing over to the chair opposite of Sherlock. He then played with his cufflinks once more before looking Sherlock in the eyes. Faux confidence, he reminded himself. "Throughout his life, my grandfather always proved himself to be a gentleman. When I was young, my own father died – as unfortunate but inevitable circumstance of his drinking."

"Yes, yes. Your grandfather then took you under his wing, and you've felt indebted to him ever since because he made you feel like you never lost your father but merely gained a new one. Now moving on to the night that your grandfather died."

Oh, this _was_ amusing. Jim enjoyed Sherlock's flair. However, Jim physically recoiled ever so slightly, making sure to take a small step back, and averted his eyes. He then recovered and stood straighter than before. Sherlock's lip twitched, almost curling into a smile, and Jim knew that he had deduced exactly what Jim wanted him to.

"Yes, well. Late one night, I received a call from my grandfather. He requested for me to represent him at a friend's party. Naturally, I obliged. However, due to the spontaneity of the call, I was late to the party. In fact, I was late enough-"

"To not have an alibi for your grandfather's mysterious death," Sherlock filled in for himself.

"Precisely."

Sherlock hummed, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. "Did you kill your grandfather?"

"No," Jim sharply stated. A long silence passed between them until he finally decided to continue, "I'm willing to pay-"

"I'm not interested in your money." Now, that _was_ interesting. Was Sherlock really so bored that he would be willing to work without payment?

Jim blinked a few times, allowing the movement to mark his surprise. "Even so, Mr Holmes, I would prefer to give you a substantial payment. Now, are you interested in my case?"

"I suppose I could take it on," Sherlock finally conceded. False reluctance. He wanted to take this case on more than anything else in the world right now.

"Perfect. I'll take you to my lawyer's office as soon as it's conveni-"

"Now would be perfectly suitable," Sherlock answered as he rose to his feet.

This was better than perfect. Jim would have Sherlock at an undisclosed location just as Mycroft had John. Smiling, Jim gave a slight tilt of his head before leading Sherlock out of the flat. His driver opened up the door, and Jim graciously allowed Sherlock to slip in first before sliding in himself. Once Sherlock was in his vehicle, Jim could feel everything coming together. He was finally on even footing. Neither of them said a thing, even after they arrived at the lawyer's office. Jim led Sherlock inside before locating his mole.

"I have some paperwork for you to fill out, Mr Holmes," the bloke stated. After all, he was still a lawyer at heart.

"Yes, yes. I won't inform anyone of what I read in here nor will I sell or leak the information to the media or anyone involved or uninvolved with the case," Sherlock dismissed before signing and dating the papers with a flourish.

The employee cleared his throat nervously. "A-and you mustn't go through any of our other cases, pending or no," he pointed out.

Jim hid a smirk as he heard that. That was just a sure-fire way to get Sherlock to look into every pending case to see if he could solve those ones as well. "However, please take your time," he encouraged. "I don't want you to feel rushed."

"Where is the evidence for this case?" Sherlock pressed.

"Right this way, sir," the mole stated.

As soon as Sherlock was secured, Jim was out and in his car once more. For the first time since Mycroft contacted him, he was starting to feel like he was in control again. He just needed to get a few more pieces in place – such as Moran – and he would be able to extract John without an issue.

Calling Moran, Jim sat back, "I have Sherlock at an undisclosed location. Any news from Walsh yet?"

"No, sir."

Jim's jaw tightened as he heard that. He needed to get back to his computer and work on it himself. God knew that he couldn't leave such an important project to an _ordinary_ person. "That wasn't what I wanted to hear."

"I know, sir." Sebastian paused a moment before carefully continuing, "I'm surprised that you allowed Walsh to stay on the project."

Jim shrugged and looked out the window. "He was eager to help. I thought perhaps he could handle it. Besides, I had other things to attend to."

"Well, money always has been a proper motivator," Sebastian noted.

Blinking, Jim answered, "Yes. It usually is, isn't it?"

"Sir?"

Jim sat rigid in his seat as pieces began to fall together. Immediately, he began to go back through his previous crimes. "Sebastian, how much contact have we had with Walsh? How often have we worked with him, I mean. Before now."

"Let me get his file, sir," Sebastian answered. Jim could hear him tick away. "He's an old recruit, but we've only worked with him twice before now. Why?"

Pressing his lips together, Jim stated, "He said I had changed."

"Pardon?"

"He said I had _changed_," Jim reiterated. "How would he have known that I changed with John if we only worked on him twice before? Unless, of course, he was watching me because he was ordered to. Because he had to find out a weakness. Then he would know."

Sebastian gasped as he came to the same realisation. "Do you need me to-?"

"Not yet. Mycroft won't know that we've caught on. But I want you to start working more with our other assets. Keep them all in the dark. Make this need to know only and threaten them if you have to. Oh, and start feeding Walsh false information."

With that, Jim ended the call. As far as he was concerned, Walsh was at fault for John being taken. Sebastian would have plenty of fun with him, and Jim would oversee it. However, now he was placed back at the beginning for the hunt for John. Walsh might have been feeding him false information the whole time. All Jim knew was that John was taken in front of King's Cross St Pancras.

"Drive faster," he snapped before feeling a phone buzz.

**Have you figured out the riddle yet? Dr Watson's starting to feel the burn. – MH**

"Shit!" Jim hissed. He had gotten so wrapped up in getting Sherlock that he had forgotten the riddle. Closing his eyes, he focused on the words again. "The yellow serpent fights its way, heading to the east. What potential it does have, this giant, yellow beast…"

Gibberish, as far as Jim was concerned. Yellow was clearly an important factor, as it was stated twice, as well as the fact that there's a serpent involved. But Jim had just closed off his exotic animal smuggling ring, which was the most obvious choice. So what did he have going on in the east? Several former clients lived over there, but he didn't have any commissioned jobs that he could think of. Frowning, he then expanded on his rings that he had over there. His largest one was laundering all different types of currency, but that had nothing to do with a serpent. Then there was a smaller forging ring he made – jewellery, coats, purses, the likes – nothing too outrageous. Some small smuggling rings, but nothing broadcasted yellow or serpent.

But perhaps yellow was an emphasis on the east? The sun rises to the east and sets to the west. Sun then? Sunrise? But Jim had nothing going on that had anything to do with sunrises. Setting his jaw, he realised that Mycroft had actually given him a difficult riddle, and now he only had four hours left to either solve it or find John.

Sucking in a deep breath, Jim closed his eyes. He needed for everything to just stop. Even if it was just for one minute, he needed to have a moment in which he could just have a clear state of mind. When his mind wasn't buzzing with fifty different deductions and theories. As he thought that, he knew who would have given him such a moment. John had a wonderful way of grounding Jim. With John, Jim was present – in the moment – and didn't feel the overwhelming need to do twenty different things in order to not be bored. He thought Jim was the most brilliant man in the world, and he let Jim know that any time he could. That sort of devotion and loyalty – that sort of appreciation – it was absolutely addicting.

But he didn't have John. In fact, John was depending on him. Frowning, Jim opened his eyes once more. He would either save John Watson or destroy the entire United Kingdom trying.

Sucking in a deep breath, he looked out to find that they were pulling up to his building. He emerged and headed up the stairs. He would have to get into the cameras at a different access point – through someone besides Walsh – and he headed straight for his laptop. Opening it up, he quickly deactivated from the CCTV feed. He pressed his lips together before calling up Fields. He had worked with Fields plenty of times before and was always pleased by how hard-working and fearful he was of Jim.

"Fields here," he answered.

"Open a portal for me to have full access to the CCTV feeds," Jim ordered.

Fields said nothing, but Jim could hear him working. "I'll text you the username and password, sir."

"Good."

Jim waited impatiently for the access information to come through. As soon as it did, he realised that he was being given access to another person's account information. Clever. Now he remembered why he worked with Fields so much. He inputted the information and smiled as the camera feeds went up. Going into the archive, he went to the camera outside of the St Pancras Tube stop. He fast-forwarded through the first few hours before finally locating John. At 10:11, a black car pulled up next to John. Mycroft Holmes himself stepped out and in front of John.

Zooming in, Jim watched as Mycroft removed a small, brown book – journal perhaps? John's eyes widened, and he went rigid. Jim couldn't help but be proud. The soldier in him was telling him to stand his ground when most would cower. Suddenly, John's hands clenched into fists, and he exchanged words. The feed was too distorted for Jim to make out anything that he was saying, but his body language was more than enough. He wanted Mycroft to leave him alone. What's more, he wanted Mycroft to hand him over that book before he left. Suddenly, Mycroft opened the vehicle. John was clearly in fight or flight mode, but at the last moment, something changed. John's body structure went from a tall, confident soldier to a wounded, helpless man.

What did Mycroft say to him? The transformation was so complete that it had to be something major. John didn't have a lot of people in his life. That was one of the pros of being with John – Jim had his undivided attention and affection. Frowning, Jim thought perhaps it could have something to do with his sister. After all, Harry would be an easy target. But she didn't have much hold over John after their falling out over her drinking. So then what could have Mycroft said to get such a reaction?

**Dr Watson seems to miss you. I hope you're working on my riddle and not wasting your time. – MH**

Jim read and reread the message before getting the urge to chuck his phone across the room. His adrenaline rushed through his veins, and he felt the inexplicable urge to destroy something… _anything_. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not until John was safe again. It pained him to keep calm and quiet when he knew he could set off missiles in the matter of minutes, but he had to play the larger game. Because this was also the most intellectually stimulated than he had been in months. As much as he hated to admit it, he was enjoying himself in a twisted way.

He should at least solve the riddle first. Once he had the answer, he could work towards finding John. Running the words through his head again, Jim sat down and carefully wrote it out, marking where Mycroft paused, designating a new line.

**The yellow serpent fights its way,**

**Heading to the east.**

**What potential it does have,**

**This giant, yellow beast.**

Sucking in a deep breath, Jim examined the lines once more. He wrote on the paper, circling "yellow" and underlining "east" and "serpent." He stared at the words, chewing through ideas just as soon as they appear. Suddenly, he understood.

_East London._

Flipping back to his laptop, he flipped over and began to search his current productions, as he liked to call them. Hundreds of them were either in or for East London, and he started sorting through them. Each one made no sense, and he scowled. Heading up to the top, he started a search for the word "yellow."

**Yellow Dragon Fist Kung Fu**

"Well, fuck."

Dragon came from the Greek word _drak__ō__n_, meaning "serpent." "Yellow" being in the name. "East" marking that it was in East London. And then "fight" signalling the fact that it was a martial arts studio. The entire riddle was clever. Very clever. Jim opened up the file to review the contents. The studio was renown for its training and had started up a special programme for military personnel, and Jim wanted to look into the programme. He wanted to pull from more resources in order to have more assassins in the field. More assassins meant more possible projects. Apparently, Mycroft had caught on to his scheme, and he would have to pull back now and find another source for trained employees.

Of course, that was only if he didn't manage to beat Mycroft at his own game first. Writing down the answer, Jim turned back to his laptop and returned to the feed. He traced John's car through London and found that it did, in fact, end up where Walsh said it did. Probably needed to tell the truth before saying a lie. It was always easier to get away with a lie if it was surrounded with truth, after all.

Even though he couldn't manipulate the angle of the recording, his bet was on that alleyway serving as the key factor in their sudden disappearance. He flipped through the other feeds and located one that would be just outside of the alley. Waiting for the blackout, Jim paused it the second it came back up. No car.

"Shit," he cursed.

They had moved faster than he expected, meaning they were at a different point. Jim closed his eyes and visualised the map of London before him. He honed in on that area before calculating the radius of their expected travel. In one minute, they couldn't have gotten further than a few blocks in any direction. With the recordings still paused, he flipped through them one after another. Three cars. He would have to track the movements of three cars in order to be able to find John.

**Have you figured it out yet? Although he doesn't want to say it himself, Dr Watson's feet and legs are killing him. –MH**

Jim sucked in a deep breath. He still had two hours of time left – two hours that he could spend tracking John. But if John wasn't holding up well then could he push that off? Could he without feeling guilty? Would John understand? Pressing his lips together, Jim realised why it was so much easier to go through life without sentimental attachments. They made everything… messy.

Examining each car closely, Jim picked the one he thought most likely to be John's. He would track it, and if it wound up correct then he would take the necessary measures to extract John. If not, he would call Mycroft and give him the answer to his riddle. With every passing minute, Jim felt the intensity of the situation. John needed him, and it infuriated him to no end that he couldn't help.

For the next hour, Jim tracked the car's movements, carefully analysing every second of the feed in order to ensure that he didn't lose it. Finally, it parked, and a small child and his mother emerged. Jim let out a scream, grabbing his mug and chucking it at the wall next to him. The mug impacted, denting the wall as it shattered. Panting, he slammed his hands down on the desk and took in a deep breath before he reached for the phone and called Mycroft.

"Cutting it a bit short there, Mr Moriarty," Mycroft noted as soon as he answered.

Jim responded, "I will quit my enquiries into your operations and military employees at Yellow Dragon Fist Kung Fu."

"Good to hear. And if you go back on your word, Mr Moriarty, there will be consequences," Mycroft noted. "As it stands now, I am sure Dr Watson will be grateful to sit down for a while."

"Proof of life."

Mycroft hummed as he heard the demand. "Yes, yes. Here you go."

After some rustling, John called out, "Jim." His voice was rougher than before. They weren't giving him water then, and that bothered Jim more than he could say.

"How are you doing?"

"Better now that I'm sitting," John confessed.

Jim answered, "I'm happy to hear that. Just hang tight. I'll get you out of there."

"Well, one could only hope," Mycroft answered.

Jim cursed himself for letting Mycroft hear him in that state. That Jim was for John's ears only. "Are you going to give me yet another riddle then? Are you planning on keeping John until you've shut down my whole organisation? Because that might take some time at the speed you're going."

"Eventually, I suppose, but right now, I'm just shutting down my main concerns."

Suddenly, Jim's other phone buzzed, and he quickly read the message.

**Fields found where they're holding John. En route now. –SM**

Smiling, Jim relaxed back into his sofa. This was good. "Do you have another riddle for me then, Ice Man? How long will this one take? Nine hours? Twelve?"

"No. I'm not feeling so generous this time. This time, you'll have two. Perhaps you will make better use of them." Mycroft paused a moment. "Of course, you'll both be rewarded with eight hours' reprieve. John will be allowed to lay down on a bed and rest."

Jim sucked in a deep breath as he tried to keep himself calm. He couldn't let Mycroft know that the tides were turning. "Very well. What is my next riddle?" he inquired.

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, and sorry I could not travel both, and be one traveller, long I stood and looked down one as far as I could to where it bent in the undergrowth. Then took the other, just as fair and having perhaps the better claim, because it was grassy and wanted wear, though as for that the passing there had worn them really about the same. And both that morning equally lay in leave no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh somewhere ages and ages hence. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I – I took the one less travelled by. And that has made all the difference."

With that, Mycroft ended the call. Jim leapt to his feet. It was time. He summoned his car, heading out of the building and slipping into it. Once the driver knew where he was going, Jim called Sebastian.

"Boss?"

Jim couldn't hear the sound of water in the background. Well, that was a good sign, but he had to be sure. "Where is he?"

"In a temporary government holding facility," Sebastian answered. "Heavily guarded. Only two ways in, unless you include the windows. Then there are six."

Jim frowned. "Have you worked out a way in?"

"It's difficult right now. I'm trying to get Somers to send me the blueprints for the building."

That wasn't good. Jim was about to go pick Sherlock up and bring him to Mycroft in order to make an exchange. If he couldn't overwhelm them in time, he risked the whole operation. "Get on it! I'm going to be arriving in about an hour. You need to have everyone in position by then. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Ending the call, Jim drummed his fingers on his knees as he tried to figure out how this would be done. He came off as if he had a plan, but he had nothing down. Mycroft still had the advantage at this point, and Jim had to be careful unless he wanted to risk John's wellbeing. It was unsettling just how much control Mycroft still had even though Jim was bringing down the axe. A change of paths, indeed, now that he thought about it. He was going down a new and different road, and he wasn't sure how John had managed to bring him to this point.

"Oh!" Jim exclaimed, sitting up in his seat. There had been another time when he had gone down "the road less travelled." Carl Powers. How many 11-year-olds killed their school bullies? Without being caught? Jim was sure that he was the only one. Well, this called for a change of plans. He could do this.

Immediately, he was calling Sebastian again. As soon as the call connected, Jim ordered, "I want you and your two best snipers to go to the coordinates I'm going to text you. Set up where you can. Keep the others at your current location in case something should go wrong. Don't question me. Just do it." With that, he ended the call and sent Sebastian the coordinates needed.

Jim would have to wait until he had Sherlock in the vehicle before he could call Mycroft. He didn't want to risk jinxing himself, after all. As the minutes ticked by, he waited impatiently, fighting so many unnameable urges. Once it felt like an eternity had passed, Jim was finally there. He stepped out of the vehicle before heading inside.

"Sir," his mole called out nervously, heading over to him. "He's still in there. I don't know how, but he is."

Smirking, Jim answered, "It's because he's bored. Now, let's go entertain him some." He followed his employee over to where Sherlock was and opened it to find him pouring over files upon files that were spread out across the room. He could hear his employee nearly have a heart attack at the sight of it. "Let me just assure you that you're not going to be fired," Jim assured him. "I won't allow it."

"Honestly, I don't know how you haven't managed to win these cases by now. The answer is so obvious, and yet you're directing your defence towards the entirely wrong person! For instance, Mr Vincent here. Although you are quite right with your assumption hat he didn't murder his wife, it wasn't his mistress, either. No, no. The evidence clearly points to it being his mother. When she was younger, she had a string of lovers, but she could never keep a man. Her son was the closest she got to having that relationship. Jealousy and love overrode reason, and she killed his wife after ensuring that he would be out for the night. You can see that she made a call to him twice before the murder that day – one directly before it – and one shortly after the time of death of the victim. And then there's Mrs Richardson, which let me just say has the dullest case I have ever read–"

"But Mr Holmes, what about my grandfather?" Jim pressed, wanting to side-track Sherlock as quickly as possible.

Sherlock frowned and started flipping back through the files. "Yes, it is by far the most interesting case. There are no contacts who could double as suspects. Perhaps someone hired an assassin… but who would have the motive?" Immediately, he started going through page after page. His scowl deepened.

"Would going to the crime scene perhaps help? It hasn't been touched since the police went through it. I… I can't…" Jim allowed his voice to crack with emotion, and he averted his eyes in order to hide the fact that he wasn't actually emotional about the situation.

Clearly eager, Sherlock rose to his feet. "The Yard probably destroyed most of the useful evidence, but they always overlook the important details," he stated smugly. "I'll come see the crime scene."

Jim nodded, murmuring his gratitude, before leading Sherlock out to his car. Opening the door, he motioned for Sherlock to get in first. He slid in second and motioned for his driver to go. Heart in his throat, he felt his adrenaline pumping through his veins as he understood that this was the beginning of the end.

"Do you mind if I make a quick call?" Jim inquired. Sherlock waved a dismissing hand before gazing out of the window. "Thank you."

Taking out his tapped mobile, Jim typed in Mycroft's number. He sucked in a deep breath and calmed himself down before hitting "Call." The phone rang three times before Mycroft answered, "Just over an hour to solve the riddle? That's a new record for you, Mr Moriarty!"

"I do not have much time to speak, as I'm en route to where _he_ died," Jim stated. These words would be critical, as he needed to convey his message to Mycroft without stirring Sherlock's suspicion. "No, no, not alone. I was lucky enough to be able to hire Mr Sherlock Holmes to help me with the investigation."

Jim could practically feel Mycroft's anger through the phone. "You are wanting to make an exchange then," he clarified.

"Yes," Jim answered.

"You do realise that I have John still. I could do anything at all to him."

Jim fought the urge to lose his control. "And I the same," he pointed out.

"Yes, but I feel that you care far more for John than I do for Sherlock."

A bluff. Mycroft would do anything for his little brother – protect him from the world if he could. Jim smirked, "We shall see. I do hope to see you soon." With that, he hung up on Mycroft and sat back in his seat. It wouldn't much longer before Sherlock realised they weren't going to the scene of his grandfather's murder. Perhaps he would deduce, even, that there was no murder.

Five minutes later, Sherlock went rigid in his seat. He had noticed the missed turn then. Jim said nothing, instead opting to send out a few text messages on his phone in order to ensure that Sebastian and his crews were in place at both where John was and the sports centre. After another minute passed, Sherlock looked over at Jim. Although he could feel that penetrating gaze upon him, Jim didn't move or flinch. Sherlock wasn't getting out of this situation now – Jim had him pinned and cornered.

"Your name isn't Richard Brook, and you have no grandfather," Sherlock stated.

"That's correct," Jim replied.

Sherlock hummed, nodding his head absentmindedly. "That's why I couldn't solve your grandfather's case. No one killed him."

"Quite right there, too. I couldn't have the answer be obvious when I had to ensure that you would be preoccupied for hours."

"So… who are you?"

Jim smiled as he heard this. "An interested party."

"Interested? In whom? Me?"

Scoffing, Jim responded, "Don't flatter yourself. If I were interested in you, I wouldn't have to have made sure that you had a babysitter for the last six hours. No, no."

"So Mycroft then. An enemy of his."

"I'm sure if you asked him, he would tell you I was his archenemy. He does love to be dramatic, don't you agree?" Jim inquired, finally looking over at Sherlock. "I'm sure you would know that more than anyone else."

Sherlock hummed in reply, but neither confirmed nor denied Jim's statement. After a long moment, he pressed, "So what is going to happen now?" He looked over at Jim. "You're clever. You clearly have resources and intelligence, so you needed me specifically as leverage."

"Even grounding," Jim answered.

Sherlock remained quiet for another moment. "You want to trade me for something. Something important."

"Something human," Jim corrected. "Human for a human. Seems simple enough."

"I'm not yours to trade."

Jim rounded on him. "And he wasn't Mycroft's to take!" he screamed, feeling his self-control slipping away. Sucking in a deep breath, he forced himself to stop. "So I made you mine to trade."

Obviously startled by the outburst, Sherlock turned away from Jim and stared back out of the window. Neither of them said a word for the rest of the trip, although he was sure that Sherlock was still making a series of deductions throughout the car trip. Not that it mattered anymore, of course. Jim focused on ensuring that they were set up for the exchange. As their car pulled up to the sports centre, Jim turned to Sherlock.

"Don't bother," Sherlock stated. "I already know everything you're about to say. We might as well just cut to the chase."

"Good."

With that, they both emerged from the vehicle. Jim ensured that Sherlock was in front of him by the time they entered the sports centre. Walking to the pool area, Jim let Sherlock walk in a few steps before clearing his throat. Sherlock stopped. Meanwhile, Jim looked around the pool. He listened keenly for any noise – anything at all that would hint to him of Mycroft's presence. Then his phone buzzed – twice. Moran was signalling that they were in place and Mycroft was en route.

"Your brother is late," Jim noted, pulling out his other mobile and calling him. "Mycroft, Darling, Sherlock's beginning to wonder if you're going to be here or not. Although, I must admit that I am far less prepared. I didn't give him the common courtesy of choosing his punishment should you not show up. Sherlock, my dear, would you prefer to be skinned or drowned in the pool?"

Sherlock glanced back at Jim and gauged him for a long moment. "Skinning," he finally chose.

"Ah, he chose to be skinned. I think he would make a fine pair of shoes, don't you?"

"I'm almost there, Mr Moriarty. If I arrive and find him-" Mycroft started to threaten.

Jim cut in, "Yes, yes, I know. I feel the same way. Make sure that you don't damage my goods, and I won't damage yours."

The call ended, and Jim shoved his hands into his pockets and paced back and forth. Spiel after spiel went through his mind as he waited for Mycroft to finally arrive. Several minutes passed before the far door opened. Mycroft came strolling in with John, handcuffed, right behind him. Just the two of them. Then Mycroft had set up snipers as well, but the question was whether they were set up yet or not. There was only one way to find out. Quickly, Jim sent Moran a text – PA, short for "pay attention" – as a warning.

"Mr Moriarty," Mycroft greeted.

"Mycroft."

Mycroft gazed at Sherlock. "It seems we have come to an impasse."

"That is to say the very least of the situation," Jim agreed coldly, looking over at John.

John was pale, dark circles under his eyes. Unlike normal, he was slightly slumped over, and he was breathing slower than normal. Perhaps sedated then. He slowly brought his gaze up to meet Jim's, and Jim was thrilled. There was that spark still there – that undeniable light that only John possessed. He was still alive – still going – still strong despite everything that had happened. Mycroft hadn't broken him.

"So what will happen now, Jim? We exchange these two blokes and go on our merry way. You return to working with terrorists and breaking the law, and I return to thwarting you at every turn. Eventually, we will always come back to here. Right now. History will continue to repeat itself until one of us dies," Mycroft stated.

Jim chuckled. "You're quite the pessimist, aren't you? Of course, you did _earn_ the nickname 'Ice Man.'" He then took a step forward. "Although when you put it like that, it's difficult to just let you go." With that, Jim snapped his fingers, raising his hand high enough that he knew Sebastian would have gotten a clear view of it through his scope. Immediately, a laser hovered over Mycroft's heart.

"Did you really think I came so unprepared?" Mycroft inquired before chuckling. "If you kill me, we will kill _him_."

Jim's heart dropped as he watched a laser come down and rest itself on John's head. Unfortunately, Mycroft did have his snipers set up. John's eyes fluttered shut, and he shook his head in disbelief. "What is your goal then?"

"The first is to make a proper exchange. Sherlock for John. After all, there is no need for bloodshed. However, as for my long-term goals… well…" Mycroft swung his umbrella absentmindedly. "It would be foolish to accept anything less than the deactivation and destruction of your web."

Jim laughed as he heard that. "You are joking! You want me to give up everything – my career, my income, my life – while you give up what exactly?"

"Or," Mycroft continued, as if Jim had said nothing at all, "you could look into the second option I want to offer you." Cocking his head to the side, Jim motioned for Mycroft to continue. "I want you to partner with me."

Jim's eyes widened as he heard the request. "What?" When Mycroft held his gaze, Jim grasped the fact that he wasn't. "You want _us_ to work together."

"You have a network that could be of great use to me. Covert missions, espionage, weaving more networks throughout the world."

"And no freedom whatsoever!" Jim bit back.

Mycroft pressed his lips together. "You would have more freedom than you think. I would just want you to keep tabs with me. Obviously, I couldn't have you working with terrorists anymore, but I don't think that Dr Watson is a fan of your schemes either."

Jim's eyes flickered to John. He must know everything now. John's eyes were dark with the mentioning of Jim's work. Immediately, Jim knew that even if they walked away without bloodshed – with a win-win on each side – John would probably leave him. He wouldn't understand. How could he? He was a good man.

"I will drop my terrorist connections, but you will stay out of my business, and I won't taunt you anymore," Jim responded.

A flash of surprise crossed Mycroft's face. "And you will notify me if a terrorist cell contacts you for help and inform me as to what they are trying."

"I will do no such thing," Jim retorted. John's eyebrows shot up. Jaw setting, Jim shook his head. Sentiment was getting the best of him once more. "Walsh will be our middleman."

"Walsh?"

Jim scoffed. "Don't insult me. I know, Mycroft."

Immediately, Mycroft dropped the façade. "And I take it that that's the only way Walsh is guaranteed to live."

"I don't like two-faced people."

Humming, Mycroft swung his umbrella up and examined the tip. "So you will keep me posted with terrorist cells. In return, I ignore your network unless something comes across my desk. If that happens, I won't be able to just ignore you."

"You won't hear my name again," Jim promised.

Mycroft ran his tongue across his teeth, causing his lips to bulge temporarily. "No more taunting then."

"As long as you don't come after John again. No matter what," Jim declared.

"The same with Sherlock."

Nodding, Jim responded, "We have a deal."

Mycroft nodded and turned before releasing John from his handcuffs. "Very good." He motioned John to walk forward, and the laser disappeared.

Jim motioned Sherlock to walk forward as well, signalling Moran to also drop his sights. When he looked back, he found John and Sherlock side-by-side, about to pass one another. He stared at them. They would have been a great team. Even physically, they were opposites, but there was a draw there. Instantly, Jim felt a possessive rage well up in him. John was _his_, and the fact that he could see John with Sherlock irked him to no end.

They walked pass one another, and John finally reached Jim's side. Instinctively, Jim reached forward to touch John, but he pulled back from the touch. Dropping his hand to his side, Jim gazed over at Mycroft. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

With that, Jim escorted John out of the sports centre. He opened the car door, and John slipped inside without a word. Pressing his lips together, he followed John into the car. Silence hung between them, and Jim began to calculate exactly what to do – what to say. He went through several lines and landed on one that he would never use in any other situation.

"Are you hurt?"

John shook his head. "No. Not physically harmed, at least."

Jim nodded his head absentmindedly. "Mentally then?"

For a long moment, John remained silent. "In the long run, I will be fine, which is what matters."

"I can hire a car for you so you don't have to walk through London for a while. Just until you feel better," Jim offered.

John snapped, "I'll be _fine_!" Jim blinked and averted his eyes, knowing the sound of hatred when he heard it in someone's voice. This time, though, it unexpectedly ripped through his heart. John must have noticed. "Look, I'm just tired and stressed, and I just want to sleep and forget everything that happened, but that's not going to happen, so I'll settle for just sleep."

"Sure. I'll… I'll take you home then." With that, Jim knocked three times on the divider to signal the destination. "I'm sorry about today. It happened because I didn't take proper measures, and–"

John cut in, "I don't want to hear it, Jim. Just… don't."

Deflating, Jim sank back in his seat as he felt the situation spin out of control. John was going to leave him. Desperate, Jim gripped John's jumper and pulled him into a bruising kiss, wanting to convey everything he ever wanted to say but couldn't because he forgot the words used to convey such emotions. Because his fear stopped his tongue and lips from forming the words that John had always wanted to hear. At first, John pulled back from the kiss, but Jim followed, not wanting to give up so soon. Gradually, John began to push back into in the kiss. He bit at Jim's lower lip before plunging his tongue into Jim's mouth. Hands were grabbing frantically at Jim's clothes, as if John wanted to ground himself in this moment – to know it was real and that he wasn't just dreaming.

Suddenly, the car came to a stop, and Jim broke the kiss to see that they were outside of his own flat. Sliding the door open, Jim snapped, "No! Three taps means John's flat. Two means my flat, and one means work. Jesus Christ!"

"It's fine," John insisted. "I just want to go to bed. I don't care whose bed it is anymore."

This was a good sign. If John was there then Jim could try to work it out before he left. Nodding, Jim got out of the car and led John up to his flat. As soon as he opened the door, Jim felt John brush by him. He looked over to find John heading straight to his bedroom, and he fought he urge to follow him. Right now, John wanted to be left alone. And honestly, Jim could use a second to breathe as well.

Flopping onto the sofa, Jim let out a long breath. John was safe now. Safe in his bedroom. The more Jim thought about it, the more he realised how grateful he was that they wound up here. If John had gone home, he would have gone to work and immediately started watching over him through the CCTV cameras. He would have been paranoid that the deal would change – that Mycroft would take him… or someone else, now that he thought about it. It wasn't as if Jim only had one enemy in the world.

But here – John was here, and Jim could relax. Just as Jim closed his eyes, he heard something. He opened his eyes, trying to place the noise. Then he heard it again – faint. Words? Getting to his feet, he started down the hall. He gently pushed open the door to his bedroom. John was curled into the foetal position underneath the covers. Walking over, he looked down and found John's face was hidden, but his body language was enough to convey his distress.

Jim undid his tie, kicked off his shoes, and removed his jacket. Slipping underneath the duvet as well, he slid his arms around John's waist and pulled him in closer. Immediately, John uncurled and wrapped his arms around Jim's body, clinging to him. Jim tucked John's head underneath his chin. Immediately, he felt something wet against his neck, and Jim tangled their legs together.

"I have you, John," Jim whispered into his ear. "You're safe, and that's never going to happen again. I promise. I'll _never_ let _anyone_ touch you again."

John said nothing in reply, and Jim wondered if he was awake or having a nightmare. Even so, he said nothing, instead opting to enjoy his time with John. Odds were that John would wake up and want to leave. Holding onto him tighter, Jim closed his eyes and concentrated on John. He wanted to memorise everything about him: his warmth, the roughness of his skin, the speed and depth of each breath, the way he slotted so perfectly against his body, and how soft he was while in the abyss of sleep. Eventually, Jim shifted them so John was resting on top of him, using his chest as a pillow. Running his fingers through John's hair, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

Upon waking up, he found his bed empty, and he was painfully cold. He sat up and stared down at where John had been. Tugging his fingers through his hair, Jim let out a scream of pain. His heart was being shredded. John had been an anchor for him – had helped him focus on something besides crimes – had given him a sense of normality – a sense of friendship – of companionship. And now he was gone without a word. Walls crumbing down, Jim felt tears on his cheeks for the first time since Carl Powers.

"Jim?" John stepped into the room from the hall.

Jim stared at him before scrambling from the bed. He tackled John, causing the two of them to go tumbling back into the hall. Immediately, he kissed up John's neck before finding his mouth, and John kissed him back reassuringly. His hands gripped at John's jumper, and he tugged up on it roughly. Complying, John shifted his arms up to let Jim remove his shirt. Once it was off, Jim began to kiss across the skin. His fingers trailed down, vibrating over every groove and curve.

"I thought you left me," Jim confessed.

"I almost did," John admitted before running his fingers in Jim's hair. "Sex isn't going to just make this better, you know."

Jim nodded. "I know. I know." He rested his ear over John's heart. "But we can work through this, right?"

"I'm honestly not sure, Jim." John paused for a long moment. "Did you mean what you said earlier? To that bloke… Mycroft Holmes?"

Confused, Jim pressed, "Which bit?"

"Well, I just mean – it was all true, wasn't it? About you… being a criminal. Working with terrorists."

Jim sucked in a deep breath. "It's not that black and white," he murmured. "First of all, I'm a criminal consultant, not a criminal."

John frowned. "I don't see the difference."

"Just _listen_," Jim insisted. "I don't expect you to understand. You're a good man. You would probably have reasoned me out of my first killing back when I was eleven."

"_Eleven?_" John echoed in astonishment.

"Shush!" Jim began to fear that there would be no way to make John understand. "I just create the crimes. Plot them out so that even the dumbest man can perform them. But I don't… _I _don't actually do anything." He doubted that made any difference in John's mind. "Look, when I was eleven, there was a kid who used to bully me. He humiliated me every day, and he made my life on the swim team a living Hell. Again and again, he pointed out how scrawny I was. How I would never be any good at swimming. I should just stop. Just die. I was a freak and a loser. And what was worse was that he was actually _good_ at swimming. It wasn't like he was talking out his arse. So… I couldn't see any other way out… I… I killed him, and that was the only time – the _only_ time – I ever killed someone myself."

John slowly moved away, and Jim frowned. And then he felt himself being tugged up, and he followed the silently instructions. Soon, he and John were face-to-face. John's brilliant blue eyes gazed intently into his own. "I'm listening."

For the first time, Jim felt like he might have a chance with someone. He could keep John if he just explained everything properly. "I'm a criminal consultant. Clients come to me with their cases, and I create schemes or programmes for them. I have employees all across the world. I have rings inside rings inside rings. And I know how to control and pull each and every one of them. I know how to create chaos or order, and for the first time in my life, I was intellectually stimulated." Jim wanted to look away, but John's eyes forced him to retain eye contact. It felt as if John was seeing something that not even Jim wanted to address.

"Intellectual stimulation isn't everything," John pointed out. "Humans have a basic need for contact. Both physical and emotional."

Jim shrugged one shoulder. "I managed for the longest time with just mental stimulation." Chewing on his lower lip, he confessed, "And then you came around. John Watson with the psychosomatic limp. John Watson who thought it was fascinating that I knew about his tours in Afghanistan. John Watson who knew I wasn't a freak. Who knew I was a genius. Who could see me for who I was. And I gained something I never had before."

"And are you worried now?"

Frowning, Jim shifted uncomfortably but maintained John's gaze. "Wouldn't you be?" he inquired. "You're the only person who has ever… helped me understand. Before you, I was a freak. A whisper. A shadow. A spider, even. I was someone to fear – to respect. And then you happened, and I became… _ordinary_."

John chuckled. "Trust me when I say that you're anything but ordinary."

"You made me less of a monster then. More human than I was before."

"And you're frightened that if I leave, you'll return to being a monster," John deduced.

Defensive, Jim retorted, "I'm not frightened. I don't get frightened!"

"I'm leaving you, Jim," John responded. Jim's eyes widened, and he felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. He should have known, but it still didn't stop the shock of the situation. He had hoped that maybe he could save this. "See, Jim? That's fear. What you're feeling right now is fear. So don't tell me that you don't get scared. You do." With that, John kissed the top of Jim's head. "I'm not leaving you."

"You're not?"

John shook his head. "God knows I should, but you… you can change, Jim. I know it. You changed today in order to ensure my freedom and protection. And if I am the cause of these changes in you then I'm not about to fuck off and leave." He ran his fingers through Jim's hair and smiled at him. "Perhaps even someday, emotional and physical will outweigh the intellectual."

Jim chuckled at John's optimism. Kissing John's soft lips, he murmured, "Perhaps." Although Jim would never admit it aloud, he knew that if anyone could change him, it was John Watson.

"But no more working with terrorists, Jim," John stated sternly. "Do you understand me? I will not stay with you if you cannot do at least that."

Nodding, Jim answered, "I promise that I will destroy all ties to terrorist cells."

John smiled genuinely, and Jim captured that moment in his mind. Unable to help himself, he smiled back. "Now, how about we get off this floor?"

"You don't like my cherry hardwood?"

"Not nearly as comfortable as your bed," John pointed out.

Jim's eyes widened. "Oh?"

"Jim, I was kidnapped and held against my will nearly all day yesterday. I hung and stood for most of that time. If anything, I want to be in a nice, comfortable bed for _at_ _least_ the rest of the week."

"Oh." Well, that wasn't what Jim was expecting. Naturally, it was too much to ask for John to be interested in sex after everything that happened yesterday. "Of course." He scrambled to his feet before helping John up as well. "Well, get to bed with you. Will his Majesty also be requiring breakfast?"

"Would be lovely, yeah," John retorted with a smile. "Considering that yesterday they didn't consider the fact that I eat…"

Rolling his eyes, Jim kissed John. "So needy."

"You could always just order takeaway. It is after noon."

Jim smiled and sank into the bed next to John. "The usual?" he inquired before pulling out his mobile phone.

"Sounds perfect."


End file.
